Watershed

Not all prog is created equal. Take prog metal, for instance. In one corner are Mastodon, who are prog to the core: long songs, lots of noodling, worship of 1970s Genesis (at least on the part of drummer Brann Dailor, an avowed Phil Collins acolyte). In the other corner are Dream Theater, who are equally prog: long songs, lots of noodling, worship of 1970s Rush (at least on the part of drummer Mike Portnoy, an avowed Neil Peart acolyte). Hipsters love Mastodon, but they won't go near Dream Theater. Dream Theater fans are equally unlikely to sport Mastodon t-shirts.

Perhaps this split is due to friction (in the musical sense). Mastodon are closer to prog as it was in the 70s-- self-indulgent, yes, but also earthy and analog. Dream Theater are the apex of prog's, um, progression since then. They're digitally clean and hyper-precise, poster boys for Pro Tools. For whatever reason, the white belt set gravitates towards prog's older aesthetic (see also the Mars Volta), while men with ponytails discuss kick drum pedals in Dream Theater forums. If "indie" is an aesthetic, it stops at certain thresholds of precision and heaviness.

Opeth, interestingly, have straddled both prog aesthetics. The Swedish band's first record, 1995's Orchid, was wonderfully raw. It was half death metal and half "other stuff"-- folk, prog, blues, jazz. The rawness came from a low budget and nascent songwriting, but it conveyed an atmosphere that Opeth never regained. Their records afterwards decreased in friction as their chops improved. In 2002, the band became practically frictionless. It split its heavy and light sides into two records, Deliverance and Damnation; the latter was gorgeously intimate. 2005's Ghost Reveries likewise went down smoothly, like a rich hot chocolate.

Watershed is an intriguing exercise in discontinuity. Unlike Orchid, which was jagged because the band didn't know how to do otherwise, Watershed finds Opeth willfully flying their freak flag. An acoustic intro with pleasant male/female singing leads straight into barreling death metal. A piano wanders into "Hessian Peel" apropos of nothing. "Burden" has an acoustic outro in which one guitarist detunes the other's pegs. It's delightfully horrible-sounding; such goofiness is refreshing for a band that's almost offensively virtuosic.

"The Lotus Eater" offers the greatest jolts. An intro of quiet humming drops into what seems like the middle of a death metal song-- but with disarmingly sunny vocal harmonies. Three minutes in, dissonant guitar lines spiral downwards like DNA strands. Later, a downright funky vamp appears, complete with chattering clavinet, as if Stevie Wonder had dropped by the studio. Aiding such absurdity are Opeth's two new members. Fredrik Åkesson brings lead guitar flash to a band that's prided itself on restraint, while drummer Martin Axenrot swings with verve. (Near "Hessian Peel"'s end is a monstrous groove that's like Meshuggah dancing a jig.)

Despite these hijinks, Watershed won't convert Mastodon fans en masse. It still has too many renaissance faire moments; its death metal is as aggressive as ever. After 18 years, Opeth's trademarks are well-established-- sinuous riffs, retro 70s keyboards, Mikael Åkerfeldt's Jekyll/Hyde act of death growls and mellifluous singing. (He sounds like your lovable Swedish uncle who once recorded a folk album.) But Watershed has friction, and friction brings heat. Those left cold by metal's po-faced tendencies might well warm up to it.